


The 5718th Crime

by yuara



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Out of Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 06:16:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15551484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuara/pseuds/yuara
Summary: Denis has Spain, Villarreal, beautiful and loyal girlfriend-lawyer and probably an affair with Mario Fernandes that can’t go public. Of course, it’s not easy for him. Obviously, no place for Golovin with his stupid feelings, pink cheeks, and awkward teenage drama.





	The 5718th Crime

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [5718-ое преступление](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/402891) by GreenTeaForever. 



> Just look at these cinnamon rolls, they totally worth it  
> https://pp.userapi.com/c845217/v845217664/9d7fd/cNiX1n5zeiI.jpg  
> https://pp.userapi.com/c845321/v845321949/9e16c/QE5oCI0veu4.jpg  
> https://pp.userapi.com/c849132/v849132373/3dcc2/6THCFho0JTM.jpg
> 
> A few notes before you start reading:  
> 1\. Sasha is short for Alexandr  
> 2\. The fic was written before Golovin's transfer to Monaco  
> 3\. And no, homosexual relations are not illegal in Russia, no matter what the characters think about it

5717 crimes happen in Russia every day. Sasha has googled it. Of course, the data is unreliable and inaccurate because he had to count himself basing on annual statistics, but it’s impressive. It means that every day 5717 human beings plan, prepare, arrange or maybe act spontaneously, go to the streets or enter a building, a shady lane, a gateway and contribute to the Ministry of Internal Affairs statistics. Every day. And nobody can prevent it.

Today this number has increased by one, but unlike the others, they will stay unrevealed. It made his blood run cold. No statistics will take them into account, no one will announce the sentence, they won’t have to pay the fines and compensations, but their lives will be broken in the very same way. At least, that is how it works for him.

Sasha is sitting on the hotel bed, which, by the way, he and Denis share for quite a time by now. He buried his head in the pillow, having a sound sleep. The windows are open wide, so the warm sea wind is playing with a tulle curtain, trying to touch the bodies, stroking gently Denis naked back and ruffling his hair. Sasha is sitting cross-legged and watching him sleep as if he was enchanted. He interlocked his fingers in case he wouldn’t be able to avoid touching, which is totally unnecessary now, and he can’t look away from the red stripes he has left himself not so long ago. They are slowly fading.

Sasha remembers everything way too well. Everything. Every touch, like it burns the skin. Every kiss, wet and deep, sweet and desired, blurry and desperate. Every move, bringing euphoria and making him forget everything else. He remembers how he couldn’t catch his breath, how he could only think about his name. That name broke from his lips without permit and it sounded so vulgar like he was in a cheap porn, but so right and easy as if he only existed to pronounce it.

He also remembers the first awkward morning talk, unpronounced goodbyes, dry greetings and the keen gaze of blue eyes, sharp as a sword and cold as frozen Baikal. Sasha was there once, in winter. He liked it, but still, he wouldn’t dare to stand on the ice: he was scared so much by its transparency, which just made so visible how deep it actually was that everything can hide in this mysterious depth, that his legs were trembling and he got an awkward feeling in his stomach. This time though, the fear didn’t stop him, the survival instinct failed. Now, that’s what he got.

They talked about it. Or, rather, tried. Sasha wanted to clear the things up, and Denis avoided the answer by any means. Like when he left early, while Golovin was still sleeping. He did that almost every time.

Maybe that’s why Sasha is now sitting half asleep wrapped in blankets and wearily studying the men, every centimeter of his skin. Trying to memorize all the birthmarks. Listening all that funny noise he makes in the sleep. Denis sometimes mumbles something unintelligible, most likely, in Spanish, and then toss and turn. The rest of the time he just breathes loudly and deep. At nights, while Denis has not wake up yet, and he himself has not fallen asleep yet, Sasha can reopen the wounds in his heart with his own broken ribs.

Golovin has already stopped expecting anything. That would be too stupid even for his not so mature age. He doesn’t even regret anything. Just a sick feeling came once and refuses to leave.

-   We’ve committed the crime, Denis. Repeated one. Does it make us criminals?

Cheryshev inhales loudly and answers, without looking back, still packing his training bag.

-   Sash, stop saying this nonsense. It’s not the crime if we both wanted it.

-   Robbers want to rob too. And murderers mostly want to murder. But that doesn’t make them lawful citizens, right?

-   Just… - a brief glance and a weak smile. – Let’s not talk about it, okay?

Sasha understands. Denis has Spain, Villarreal, beautiful and loyal girlfriend-lawyer and probably an affair with Mario Fernandes that can’t go public. They are always together, after all, how else to explain it? Of course, it’s not easy for him. Obviously, no place for Golovin with his stupid feelings, pink cheeks, and awkward teenage drama. It is stupid to hope, it is stupid to wait, it is stupid to stare at the sleeping man.

He understands all that, but it doesn’t make things easier. He just wanted to get away from it. Damn the game with Croatia, damn the coach, damn the team, but first of all – damn Denis. He just wanted to come back home, to Kaltan. Play football with boys, talk with his old coach, meet those idiots classmates who have stayed in that god forgotten place. Find some girl, simple and homely, forget all the ambitions and live the common life.

He still loves football. And – looks like that – loves Denis. But he can’t get only one of them, he has to take both or lose both. Because while Cheryshev is near, while the room smells with his perfume, while he hears his breathtaking Spanish when he gets distracted, while Denis hugs Mario, while he calls his girlfriend, while he is just close to him, Sasha can’t stop, he simply can't physically stop despite the red lights. He is so massively screwed.

-   I love you so much, you moron. I wish I didn’t. So that I could see you and your Mario without wanting to die right there.

He feels something resembling relief by saying it. It’s like facing his biggest fear in hope to overcome it. Soon it will be over, and things will change for the better. He repeats that three times without actually believing, but with acceptance.

He leans closer, puts an almost-goodbye kiss on the shoulder and presses his forehead to the same place, closing his eyes. It is probably the gentlest moment they ever had. It is painful. If the Spanish Inquisition has had tortures like that, nobody would have done the witchcraft.

It is 5:02. Sasha no longer holds his hands locked. It got cold somewhere an hour ago, and the wind feels now bone freezing. Denis will get up soon. He always gets up early – his Spanish habit. Somebody once wrote that happiness in Indonesian is called bitch. Wise people they are, Indonesians.

Golovin looks at him for the last time and lies down on his side, turning away. He could wait, start a quarrel, tell everything he thinks. But he won't. It’s meaningless, he just feels empty. He wanted to give everything he had to Denis because he was happy those brief seconds when Denis was near, when he smiled and kissed him, not when he dryly says “Good morning”. Maybe that just wasn’t his to get. He felt too tired to fight.

He feels a movement behind his back and closes his eyes, forgetting to cover. Doesn’t matter, Denis won’t suspect anything. Cheryshev stands up and, judging by the noise, gets dressed. Sasha just sniffs indifferently, waiting for the door to clap and for the steps on the squeaky floor in the corridor.  But then, the next second he feels the familiar smell and the warm hands covering him with a blanket. Denis even makes sure that he won’t get cold, tucking the edges under his side. Sasha is about to frown but remembers to keep an indifferent face. Then he feels a careful kiss in the forehead.

Denis leaves the room, and Golovin opens his eyes in shock. He feels again the same heavy feeling in his chest. He spends another minute lying in the bed and trying to understand what is happening, why, why his life is like this, but he can’t so he swears and follows to the outside.  

***

It is somewhere past 5 am and the base is empty. It smells fresh and wet after the night. He looks around, surprised, squinting against the bright red rising sun. Turns out, he loses so much by sleeping till midday.

The grass on the field is wet but cleaned and untouched since yesterday. The benches are cold and unusually empty. It’s quiet and calm. So opposite to what is happening right now in Sasha’s head.

Cheryshev is jogging, wearing a crumpled t-shirt and sweatpants. The same t-shirt Sasha pulled off yesterday with trembling hands while Denis was kissing his neck. Probably, the same one Fernandes was crying on out of the happiness. Things always keep a lot of memories. Sasha could only hope that Denis wouldn't throw it away after coming home.

\- Sasha? Why are you so early today?

Denis squints too and his gaze is somehow different. If Sasha would be more attentive, he would have noticed it a long time ago. But everything looks better and clearer than it is at 5 a.m.

\- I see why you fall asleep so easily. Extra training, hah?

Grin wryly. Pretend indifferent. Don’t look in the eyes. He is good at that.

-   I just had to think about… everything.

-   Better talk. By the way, that’s why I’m here.

-   Sash, I…

\- No, listen to me, okay? – Golovin makes a deep breath and tries to sound confident while lying to – probably - the love of his life – I don't care. I know you have a girlfriend, you are famous and you don't have nerves to waste on me. We just do what we do. I like it, you like it too, I guess. No problems. You will go home, I will go home. It's easy…

He failed. Lost the temper. Made himself look like an idiot - again. He looks down, at his sneakers, passes a hand over his face and abruptly turns away when he feels something wet under his fingers. Shit.

-   Sasha, look at me...

-   It’s okay, I don’t care… I've just said.

-   Sasha!

Firm hand squeezes his forearm and pulls. Golovin is so confused that he doesn't fight back, he just falls to Denis’s embrace. It's good that they have the same height. It's comfortable to hug, so cozy he doesn't want to stop it. He can't even control his own thoughts.

-   Cristina… She is not… like, I don’t feel anything to her. It’s like a habit, like, you know, like smoking. When you know that it kills you but you can’t stop. Even if you want. You need help.

Their temples touch. Denis smells like warmth, like the sun and a little bit that perfume from yesterday. He wants to hold him like this forever. He wants to never know him, to forget, to delete him from his memory. Because it’s too good. Life can’t be that good. In reality, they will go different ways, that’s what always happens. Denis will come back to Spain, Sasha… probably will leave for Chelsea or some other club. They will start families, grow old and finish their careers, will raise their children or train somebody else’s. Maybe those children will become great football players who will take their places in the national team. And these good moments, this warmth will stay forever in the past, along with other memories.

-   And you helped me, Sasha. I love you too, idiota.

Sasha couldn’t help to laugh. He has heard everything. Of course, he did. Sasha, without looking around, tries to reach for a kiss. Doesn’t matter if he will push him away. Nothing matters now. They have so little time left to live and breathe freely.

But Denis doesn’t push away. The kiss isn’t blurry like usually, it’s not even passionate. It was confident and sincere, like when you are married and you don’t have to prove your feelings anymore. They know what they feel, and that’s enough. Sasha is stroking the short hair on the back of Denis's neck and feels so full in his chest that he wants to run, jump, just not to stand still. It is it, the happiness. Cheryshev's palms squeeze his sides, pressing even closer.

Then they hug, long and real, holding hands, interlocking fingers and looking at them, like the eighth wonder of the world. They fool around, play catch-up, slipping on the wet grass. Then they lay around, completely staining the white T-shirts. They kiss again, lazily and slowly. So sappy, that both of them would have long been sick if they were not so busy with each other.

-   You know how they say that the best way to keep something forever is to lose it? – says Sasha pensively when they finish the tenth circle around the stadium, shoulders touching.

-   Nonsense. You forget anyway after time. Better have something to remind you about these moments.

\- Like what?

-   We can leave something to each other to remember.

\- Don't tell I'll have to take your sweaty t-shirt with a giant 6 on the back.

Denis laughs, small wrinkles appear at his eyes corners, and promises no t-shirts. Sasha knows that Denis is already 27 and each year it is less likely that he will be in the next World Cup team. To be honest, Sasha isn't sure about himself either. There's always someone better than you, that's how the life is.

***

They are in the airport surrounded by strangers. Sasha is still wearing his uniform, Denis has his shabby jeans and a polo with short sleeves on. It's so overcrowded that Sasha wants to run away. He would if it wasn't for Denis who smiles and says something about Spain, and vacation, and Mario. Turned out, they were so close only because both grew up in another country and spoke the same language.

Then a female voice announces the registration to Madrid. He looks into Denis eyes and bites his lips so to not to say something stupid again. He hates goodbyes. He hugs Denis much longer than it is appropriate. He listens to his calm voice, tries to memorize the soft accent that doesn’t interfere with understanding and realizes that he just doesn't want to let this moment go – more than anything else.

Then he lets it go. He steps back, accidentally hits a stranger who is in such a hurry that doesn't even notice it.

\- See you, I guess…

Denis holds out a neat red jersey and only shrugs when Golovin gives him a surprised look. Then he grins, when Sasha takes out of the bag the same jersey, but crumpled, and gives him back.

-   At your place, I would think about Chelsea. Good start.

-   A little bit far from Madrid, don’t you think?

-   Closer than Moscow.

Denis cuts the distance between them and quickly kisses him in the forehead, breathing his smell for the last time. But it got under his skin anyway. Sasha inhales and feels that he can’t handle it anymore.

\- I have some time off at the end of August. It's way too hot in Spain, I would rather go somewhere.

-   What do you think about Kaltan? – smiles Sasha, while Denis consider it as an option.

The plane takes off according to the schedule, along with all the hopes for happiness. Sasha squints, trying to find it in the Sochi sky and smiles. Maybe they really will see each other in summer, go to his town, and then visit Denis’s home. He will break up with his girlfriend and switch all his attention to Sasha. Maybe.

Maybe that’s the last time they see each other, and the only thing they have left is the red jerseys. One with 6, one with 17.

They committed the 5718th crime the day they first kissed. By that, they destroyed several possible lifelines. Or, maybe, they found the true one. He doesn't know what is waiting ahead. Nobody does. There only are a thousand of maybe's and «it's possible»'s.

He only knows for sure that he will remember these moments forever, keeping in his heart those fragile moments of true happiness, the most real one that can only be between two people.

He doesn't know yet, but at the end of August he will get a short message from an unknown number

« Are there any flight to your Kalatan at all?»


End file.
